


A Place of Safety

by elfin



Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: Maybe it was always leading to this....





	A Place of Safety

The pub is unusually crowded. They have their usual table but someone's stolen Sidney's chair. So they're both sitting on the bench, perched, supping beer and sitting uncomfortably close together with their shoulders touching and their knees banging. Geordie is a second away from telling the overweight man at the next table to shove over when Sidney says his name and he turns his head and feels his stomach twist.

He's never had a partner before, someone who shares his day, sits in the pub with him, laughs with him, walks and talks with him. He's grown fond of Sidney so quickly that when he isn't around, Geordie misses him.

But, up until that moment, he hasn't realised just how deeply the soft sod has burrowed into his thoughts, into his affections. Into his heart. 

Being with Sidney makes him feel strangely safe, protected. It's not the God thing, the way other people think of their vicar. It's a Sidney thing. The brave, stupid, unique soul, who looks at danger with a different perspective to everyone else Geordie’s ever met. 

All his life he's had to be The Man, he hasn't had anyone to lean, wasn’t supposed to need anyone. But since Sidney blustered into his life, he's been there for him; a firm rock, an immovable object. Someone he can rely on no matter what.

But he knows this yearning of old, and in the past he's taught himself to hate it, to hate that part of himself. He buried it deep a long time ago and barely thinks about it now. People who make him think about it are few and far between. 

Sidney's beautiful in so many ways. And slowly he’s started to question what it is about that part of himself, that he's hated for so long, could be so wrong. He can't understand what could possibly be bad about loving Sidney, because Sidney deserves to be loved. 

He can only be glad the man is a lady magnet. It means he can enjoy his company without anxiety, without worrying what it might lead to. 

He feels a warm tap against his fingers; Sidney trying to get his attention. 

'Geordie? Are you all right?'

He nods. 'Sorry, miles away.' 

The chair thief brings back Sidney's seat, looking a little guilty when he spies the dog collar, which makes Geordie smug. But of course, Sidney just thanks him and stands up to go sit on the other side of the table. Geordie feels the chill of his absence immediately where he's been pressed up so close. 

Sidney sets up the backgammon board now they can play face to face, handing over the dice, the tips of his fingers briefly resting against Geordie's palm. It's a nice evening, all in all.

~

Geordie’s son falls ill. A father kills a man to protect his gay son. And Geordie goes off the rails for a bit. He shouts at Sidney, hurls insults his way, because the alternative is to let the cracks show and he can’t do that. When it’s all over, when everything rights itself and he’s done turning an indecency charge into an apology for a false arrest, the strongest memory is of the warmth of Sidney’s cheek against the palm of his hand, despite the drink. And he realises that at no time did his friend express an opinion on the activities going on in the public toilets on Regent Street. He's a vicar, he isn’t supposed to judge. His curate is most definitely a homosexual, although Geordie doesn’t know if he’s… active. He thinks about everything, and thinks he might be reading something into it that just isn’t there. Just because he wants it to be. Which isn’t true at all. He doesn’t want it, because the idea that Sidney might just respond to a ‘come on’... that’s far too much temptation for a lowly copper like himself.

'I'm sorry,' Geordie apologies. They've finally carved out an hour for a walk, just the two of them, and they're sitting on the bank of the river watching the water rush by, getting grass staines on their trousers.

'For what?'

'Calling you a selfish bastard, for one. You're the least selfish person I know. And for my behaviour in the pub.' He keeps replaying that scene over and over, imagining Sidney leaning into his touch. Imagining taking a step forward and closing the so-short distance between them.

'It's all fine, Geordie. I understand.'

He hesitates, for so long that Sidney puts his hand down to push himself up.

'Can I ask you something?'

Sidney stops, shuffling instead to get comfortable on the hard ground. 'Of course.'

'Did anything about the investigation bother you?'

'Of course it did.' He thinks he has his answer. 'A man was killed, stabbed to death just for falling in love. That bothered me.'

It’s not exactly the answer he’s been looking for. ’It’s illegal to love a member of the same sex.'

'Why?'

'Because... because it's disgusting.’ It’s what he’s supposed to say.

'Why? Why is a man kissing a man so different from a man kissing a woman? Why is a man... touching another man's penis different from a woman touching it? Who does it hurt? Who’s the victim? Shouldn't crime be about victims?’

‘The law is a lot about upholding what that book of yours deems to be right.’ 

‘The bible doesn’t say being homosexual is wrong.’ 

Geordie doesn’t want a theological debate. ’The idea doesn’t disturb you?’ 

Sidney reaches between his legs and pulls up a long blade of grass, smoothing it between his fingers. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘It doesn’t disturb me.’

Geordie almost asks why, but he still doesn’t because he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to do or so anything that will change the balance between them. Sidney’s friendship feels unshakeable, but in his experience there is always something that can destroy even the strongest of connections.

He clambers to his feet and without thinking, offers Sidney a hand up. A surprised smile lights up the boyishly handsome face, and warm fingers wrap about Geordie’s hand. Once Sidney’s on his feet, Geordie has to remind himself to let go. It’s a new memory, at least, to join the one from the pub. 

~

A week later, Geordie’s pacing the stark white corridors of the hospital, waiting for news, berating himself for ever letting a sodding vicar turn into an amateur sleuth, for encouraging him. For putting him in danger. 

He keeps thinking, he should have known their number one suspect in a stabbing might be carrying a knife. Maybe then he wouldn’t have let Sidney try to talk him down, wouldn’t have let him get so close. Once minute he was talking, the next, his expression turned to pain and their suspect ran off, leaving Geordie staring at the red blossoming through Sidney’s white shirt.

Leaving Sidney on the ground while he went for help was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, alongside letting go of his hand when they lifted him out of the ambulance. 

Leonard and Mrs M are sitting on the plastic seats driving lukewarm tea. Geordie’s still shaking too hard to hold anything.

The minutes feel like hours. Every door that opens has Geordie looking up for the doctor or the nurse who went through the doors at the end of the corridor with the gurney Sidney was lying on, protesting that he was fine.

Geordie can still hear him, in fact, assuring everyone he’s fine despite the blood soaking through his white shirt. He can still hear him. A door at the end of the corridor opens and he can hear him better, louder, and he realises it’s because it’s not his mind playing tricks. Sidney steps out of the room, flanked by nurses, left arm in a linen sling, blood soaked shirt hanging off his left shoulder.

Geordie smiles, and Sidney looks up and smiles back, insisting yet again that he’s fine. He doesn’t want to get in the way of a potential date - at least one of the nurses looks a second away from giving him her number - so, reassured that his friend isn’t going to die, Geordie turns away. Only to be caught up in the onslaught of Leonard and Mrs M.

‘This is what happens when people play hero!’ The nurses don't stand a chance, bustled out of the way by Sidney’s landlady and the curate Geordie can’t decide if he likes or loathes. ‘This detective nonsense will be the death of you, Sidney Chambers!’ Geordie winces at how close it might actually have come to that. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ He realises that’s aimed at him. ‘This is your fault, Inspector. You’re not getting away that easily!’

He drives them all back to Grantchester, Sidney and Leonard sharing the backseat. He can watch the pain move across Sidney’s face with every jolt of the car and he’s relieved when they reach the vicarage. He hangs around in the living room while Mrs M fusses over Sidney, who makes a beeline for a hot bath. He thinks about escaping but in all honestly he doesn’t want to leave. In the end he finds the whisky, pours himself a generous measure and sits down, closing his eyes and remembering how to breathe. 

A hand a hand on his shoulder jolts him awake and he opens his eyes to look up at Sidney’s smiling face.

‘Oh. I must have -‘

‘You were snoring.’ At least he hasn’t tipped whisky over his lap. The glass is still upright between his legs. Sidney is wearing a blue corduroy shirt and dark trousers, his arm is cradled in the sling and it’ll be a while before he’s out on his bike again. He sits on the sofa next to Geordie, the sun setting outside the window beside them, looking longing at his glass.

‘Oh, no. You must be on medication, so no whisky for you tonight my friend.’

‘No whisky for you at all.’ Mrs M hands him a cup of tea. ‘And you behave,’ she wiggles her finger at Geordie. ‘Don’t think you’re off the hook for what happened to him today. Look after him while I go over to the church.’

He doesn’t respond and she leaves them alone. The moment they hear the front door close, Geordie’s up and fetching a second glass which he sloshes a finger of whisky into and swaps it for the cup of tea in Sidney’s hands.

‘You’re a bad influence.’ But he takes a healthy swig and looks as if he’s finally found paradise. ‘I think I love you.’

‘If you collapse due to an overdose, I am not going to be held responsible.’ Geordie sits back down, his shoulder and knee slightly closer to Sidney’s than they had been before.

‘I’m fine.’ It’s what he’s been saying since he was stabbed. He looks pale, in pain, but glad to be sitting drinking with Geordie. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s more likely just feeling lucky to be alive. For a while they sit in silence, the unusual peace and quiet of the vicarage settling his frazzled nerves.

‘I'm going to find that bastard, Sidney.' He says after a time. 'He could have killed you. And if he’d killed you….’ 

Sidney’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. Geordie experiences a moment of panic and turns to look, scared of what he might see in these expressive eyes, but Sidney’s sound asleep, snoring softly, mouth open. 

Geordie takes a deep breath and relaxes. ‘If he’d killed you, I’d kill him,’ he whispers. ‘I would hurt anyone who hurts you.’ He drains his glass and leans his head sideways against Sidney’s. He resolves, ‘I think I need to tell you something.’

~

His neck is aching when he wakes up. It’s dark, inside and out, the house is quiet, and there are blankets over them both. Sidney’s head is still against his shoulder, he's curled around his arm, knees pressed into Geordie’s legs. For a minute, Geordie allows himself to enjoy the closeness. Then he nudges Sidney gently, mindful of his wound. 

Sidney wakes slowly, groggy from the combination of whisky and medication. He lifts his head and winces in pain. Geordie winces in sympathy.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have let you fall asleep like that.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘You’re fine. I know. You keep saying.’

He turns his head to smile as Sidney does the same and catches his breath, eyes straying to Sidney’s full mouth. They're close enough to kiss with barely an inch of movement between them.

He panics the moment their lips touch, sitting up which jostles Sidney’s shoulder. Now he's guilty for the kiss and guilty for hurting him. 

‘Geordie.’ He loves the way his name sounds when Sidney says it. No one has ever made it sound so sweet before. In the gruff tone of the coppers at the station it’s almost an insult, but when Sidney says it… it makes him want to listen to whatever comes next. It makes him want to reach out and touch. 

‘I should definitely go.’

‘Geordie, it’s all right.’

‘It’s not all right. I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘You absolutely should have done that.’ Sidney’s voice is soft, reassuring, coaxing him the way he coaxes his parishioners, and those who look to him for help and advice. Geordie sees right through it; he knows Sidney better, he suspects, than anyone else. He isn’t reassuring him. He’s seducing him.

‘I have to go.’

He’s out of the house before he can do anything else he’ll regret in the morning, and for the rest of his life.

‘Geordie.’ He stops halfway along path and turns to look back. There’s a street lamp across from the house and by its light he can see Sidney in the doorway. 

‘You should go to bed. It’s late, you’re injured…’ It’s weak even by his own standards.

‘Geordie.’ 

It's a summons. But he won’t go inside, he promises himself when he starts back, he’ll stay out on the step.

Once he’s there, he pleads, ’Sidney, just blame the stresses of the day, all right? Please?’ He looks into the blue eyes, the kind face he's starting to know better than his own. Better than his wife's. ‘I was so scared I’d got you killed and I couldn’t….’ He shakes his head. 

Sidney reaches out and cups the side Geordie’s face in the palm of his hand, just like Geordie had done to him in the pub. His thumb rubs his cheek the way Geordie imagines he rubbed Sidney’s. It brings a flush to his face and a rush of blood to his groin. ‘Do you love me, Geordie?’ Sidney murmurs, a simple question, and Geordie can’t lie. 

‘Yes.’

Sidney smiles, happy, and lets his hand drop back to his side. ‘Good night.’

Relieved, Geordie nods. ‘Good night. Get some sleep.'

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part 2, it's half-written. I may finish it some day soon and if I do I'll link it to this fic.


End file.
